


Werepies of Manchester

by guti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Attempted Cannibalism?, Class of 92 Shenanigans, Crack, Food, Gen, Humans Turning Into Desserts, Pastries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:33:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an average sort of day, with a grey sky that had the faintest hint of blue to it, the promise of a pleasant sunset if nothing more.  The grass was green and freshly cut, and somehow, during the course of the afternoon, Ryan turned into a pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werepies of Manchester

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anemoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/gifts), [redandgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redandgold/gifts).



> 100% crack to cheer up Rach & Sharon. Love you, my (differently shaded) red darlings! Please be happy!

It had started out as an ordinary afternoon with all the typical sorts of activities that one might expect of a group of healthy young boys, football and rough-housing and other miscellaneous distractions from all other cares in the world. It was an average sort of day, with a grey sky that had the faintest hint of blue to it, the promise of a pleasant sunset if nothing more. The grass was green and freshly cut, and somehow, during the course of the afternoon, Ryan turned into a pie.

Now, that statement might be a little odd to wrap one’s head around, so allow me to elaborate on this strange series of events. The lads had stayed late on the pitch, teasing each other and playing a somewhat intense round of three-on-three as the evening threatened to settle in and bring cool and early end to their playing. They’d all just agreed to have one last go— the next goal would win the night, and so they were all very determined to do their best and claim the victory.

It was in the course of this final match, just after Becks slotted in the winner that the five of the at once noticed that Giggsy seemed a little bit under the weather. Indeed, his whole demeanor seemed to have shifted from one of boundless energy to something stagnate and sluggish. As he sank into the grass, the others all agreed that they thought he looked as though he might never get up again.

Indeed, this was because he’d somehow turned into a pie. Gone was the rakish smile, the skinny limbs, the unruly curls, and in their place was a golden brown crust and delicate pecan topping, lovingly baked into a disposable foil pan. He smelled incredible and he looked downright tasty, but as Scholesy repeatedly reminded them all, they weren’t to eat Ryan. They should instead take him to the infirmary, to make sure he wasn’t too hot. Fevers could be dangerous, after all.

Gaz offered to carry him there, sucking back the saliva which had accumulated in his mouth at the sight of the glorious pie sitting there on the pitch. But he was beaten to it. Before he could get his mitts on the pie, Paul stooped down to pick Ryan up, almost reverent in how he handled him, with the sort of care none of them realized he possessed. Gary made a show of trying to wrest the pie out of Scholesy’s grasp, only to be in turn held back by Becks, much to his frustration.

“Calm down, Gary,” Becks said with a laugh, keeping Gary’s arms firm behind him. “You can’t eat Ryan! Have you lost it?”

Phil’s eyes went large in horror at the thought of anyone eating poor Giggsy. Beside him, Butty cackled.

“I wasn’t going to eat him!” Gaz huffed, trying to wriggle free of David’s grasp. “I was just going to taste him!”

“Same difference!” Scholesy said, looking sour as he ever had. Nicky was snorting, practically in tears by then.

From the safety of Paul’s arms, Ryan was enraged, and though he had no mouth with which to speak, he managed to communicate with his friends by spelling out words with the steam which was released from the vents of his crust. ‘ _I don’t need anyone to protect me! If you lot don’t think I can handle that whiny little potato coming after me—_ ’

“I’m not a potato!” Gary cried, scandalized while Becks held him tight. Nicky was on the ground at that point, positively weeping from laughter. Phil looked torn between wanting to defend his brother’s honor and wanting to join in the merriment.

‘ _Now put me down, Paul_ ,’ Ryan steamed. ‘ _I’m not scared of him_.’

“You should be,” Phil said, helpfully. “Have you seen him at breakfast? He puts back pasties right and left, like they’re going out of season.”

“Hey!” Gary gasped.

“It’s true,” Phil said in that infuriating little brother way of his.

“No it isn’t!” He spluttered again. “I eat cereal in the mornings!”

His friends all stared at him, unmoved.

Becks leaned forward, whispering in Gary’s ear, “That’s his way of calling you fat.”

Gary bristled as Becks gave a laugh, ruffling his hair, and in the process loosening his hold just enough that Gary could break free and stalk toward Scholesy and the pie with a cry of, “Now I’ve got you!” for good measure.

Ryan vented out in horror, ‘ _Keep him away from me! He’s gone bananas_!’

“How does a potato go bananas?” Becks wondered aloud. Phil giggled.

Paul held the pie close to his chest, cuddling it like it was an American football and he a wide receiver about to be tackled. Indeed, Gary looked poised to spring on him in an attempt to liberate the pie, but just as he made to pounce, an arm reached out and a hand wrapped around his ankle, stopping him. It was Nicky, darling that he was, tears still in his eyes from laughing so hard. Gaz hit the ground with a thud. Scholesy hopped back and far from his grasp. The pie let out some choice words with his steam. Becks too was reduced to sobs of laughter. And Phil knelt down beside his brother, cradling him ‘Pietà’ style.

“Oh, Gaz!” Phil cooed, brushing his brother’s hair from his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Gary scowled as the others carried on laughing. “Just, I really want some damn pie.”

“Let’s go home then. We can stop for some sweets on the way.” Phil was smiling, eyes so bright, Gary simply couldn’t deny him anything. He could only let out a forlorn sigh and shrug his consent as Phil sat there, clapping and laughing, “Yay!”

Before he picked himself up off the ground, Gary gathered up the loose crumbs from the grass and began to eat them, much to everyone’s dismay.

They all started to split up, heading their separate ways, only Ryan was still stuck in Paul’s arms, held close to his chest as he shuffled along toward home. Giggsy was still so warm, piping hot, really, but Scholesy didn’t mind.

‘ _Put me down_ ,’ Ryan puffed. ‘ _I can make it fine by myself_.’

“Don’t be stupid,” Paul said, walking on.

‘ _Put me down or I’ll burn you_ ,’ Ryan vented.

“If you burn me, I’ll throw you in the river,” Paul deadpanned. Ryan didn’t respond. Truthfully, it was very difficult for a pie to float, let alone swim. Reluctantly he let out some steam and relaxed in Paul’s arms.

He stayed the night. They fell asleep beside each other, voices quiet so as not to wake everybody, and they swapped secrets and wishes and jokes, and every so often, Ryan would succeed in making him laugh so loud there’d be a knock on the walls and a sharp warning for them to keep it down.

It was nice, it felt comfortable, and eventually, after staying up far too late, the pair of boys fell asleep, mere centimeters apart, Paul’s face in right alignment with the crust of the pie so that it would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in the morning.

Except when he awoke, he wasn’t face to face with the caramelized nuts of a pecan pie. Instead he was nose to nose with Ryan— the real Ryan, sound asleep in his bed with him. His eyes were shut, lips parted as he breathed in and out, so peaceful like that. Ryan was so close to him, he could have kissed him, if the thought had occurred. But at that point in time, it hadn’t yet, so instead he stayed quiet and listened to him softly breathe. He felt a warmth in his chest as he watched the other boy, then thinking better of it he shut his eyes again and pulled his comforter up over their shoulders in an attempt to go back to sleep.

Later in the morning, when it was time to wake up, Ryan yawned and stretched and razzed him for curling up to him in his sleep, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had, until quite recently, been an actual sentient pie. Scholesy mentioned it to him, as they were pulling their shirts on, told him about what had happened the evening before, about Gary trying to eat him, and Butty falling down he was laughing so hard, and everything else.

Ryan grinned at him, slinging both arms around his shoulders from behind. “That sounds like a really bizarre dream. Did you take something before bed last night?”

Paul turned his head to look at him, incredulous. “Like what?”

“I dunno. PCP?”

Ryan was laughing again, interrupted only by voices from down the hall calling them for breakfast. Giggsy flashed that cheeky smile of his and sprinted out the door, determined to be the first one at the table. Scholesy took his time, pulling on his trousers, sitting on the side of the bed. He was sure he hadn’t been dreaming, so sure Ryan had somehow been turned into a pie. But that didn’t make any sense. How in heaven and on earth could Ryan have been a pie? This was the sort of thing people came up with when they were on drugs. Drugs or while suffering from some kind of serious illness.

He sighed, sinking back onto the bed a moment, when his arm brushed something in the sheets. He sat up again quickly and stared at the spot with narrowing eyes. Crumbs. Pie crumbs. And pecan fragments. What the hell…?

“Scholesy! Breakfast!” Ryan called from down the hall, and so he got up and trotted after him, having more questions then than answers.

The mystery was solved by lunch time, however, when Ma Neville rang the house to let them know both of her boys had come down with some strange viral symptoms. Within the hour, both Paul and Ryan were sick too, and the phone tree spread the news that a flu that caused hallucination had hit the city. Hundreds of people were stricken, all reporting nausea, which followed vivid dreams that seemed to center around sentient food.

The contents of his dream were explained away, however, Paul never did figure out how the pecan pie remnants got into his bed. That part of the event perplexed him, as I am certain it must perplex you, gentle readers. But rest assured, it would not puzzle him for long, as the were more urgent and pressing matters for the six of them to investigate.

The next most exciting adventure came a fortnight later when, in the middle of running laps, Phil turned into a delectable devil’s food cupcake. But that is a story for yet another day.


End file.
